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“Riley wasn’t a gambler—nor was he particularly fond of the seedy scene at the track—but he had an Irishman’s passion for beautiful horses. He loved watching them run, their muscles rippling under their shiny coats, the flare of their nostrils as they reached top speed. To Riley, horses were the purest runners on earth, unburdened by human flaws such as vanity and egotism. He hated runners who showed up their opponents with their body language and facial expressions. He hated showmanship. Riley walked Jesse straight up to the rail, where together they spent the entire afternoon just watching the thoroughbreds run race after race. “Don’t talk, Jesse,â€� he said. “Watch.â€� And Jesse watched. He watched the horses as they galloped effortlessly down the stretch. He too couldn’t help but admire their form, the way it seemed that all their energy was expended but none wasted. Finally, after the tenth and final race, Riley turned to the boy and asked, “Well, what did you learn today?â€� “Well,â€� Jesse said, his hand still clasping the rail, “the way they move—the legs and the whole bodies of the horses that can get the lead and keep it—is like they’re not trying. Like it’s easy. But you know they are trying.â€� “And what about their faces?â€� Riley asked, getting to his primary point. “I didn’t see anything on their faces.â€� “That’s right, Jesse,â€� Riley said, lifting his bony finger to Jesse’s chest. It was an accusation. “Horses are honest. No animal has ever told a lie. No horse has ever tried to stare another one down. That’s for actors. And that’s what you were doing the other day. Acting. Trying to stare down the other runners. Putting your energy into a determined look on your face instead of putting it into your running.”
― Jeremy Schaap, Triumph: The Untold Story of Jesse Owens and Hitler's Olympics